Interruptions
by Ukaisha
Summary: On a day when everyone else lives out their boring, mundane lives with infuriating normality, Kenny would kill for a quiet minute just to masturbate in peace. (Kennycentric, oneshot)


A/N: A short, pointless one-shot I banged out at random to explore Kenny's character.  
I don't know.  
I love Kenny.  
That is all.

* * *

_Interruptions_

When a cringe worthy pop song featuring a whining, moaning woman suddenly blasted into the room, Kenny hardly bat an eye. The shifting transition from dreamworld to reality was smooth and effortless, and his mind picked up right where it had left off; stuck in a wet dream. The only difference was that here, he could fully take advantage.  
In his mind he could picture a busty brunette finally removing the obscuring bikini that she had been teasing him with. Her nipples were dark and pert, and her long, elegant fingers were squeezing and jiggling and bouncing her bodacious tits. With classless bubblegum pop still blasting and a topless woman inviting him in his mind, Kenny decided to wake up by slipping his hand beneath the covers to alleviate some of the, erm, "pressure."

Only moments after making this decision, seconds after he had sneaked a hand into his boxers, Fatass jumped onto his bed and nuzzled against his cheek, affectionately but distracting.

Fatass was a fluffy gray cat. And he liked interrupting Kenny during private moments.

Kenny grumbled and attempted to pull Fatass off of him, but the cat merely yowled and dug his claws into the blanket, stubbornly resisting him. Not wanting to be clawed for his trouble and already starting to lose the dream anyway, Kenny gave up. It wasn't worth the effort.  
He slammed a hand down on the alarm radio, silencing the now awkward moaning/singing and casting the room into silence.

Absently, for a few minutes, he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. He continuously, thoughtlessly pet Fatass as the cat purred and nuzzled against him, occasionally nipping him if his hand stopped petting for even a moment. Fatass was so named not because he was fat, but because he was exceptionally furry; he seemed like a giant fluff ball of nothing but hair, and it made him seem very fat. In fact he was probably a little undernourished, but that was neither here nor there.  
Of the many cats in the McCormick household, Fatass was Kenny's favorite, and vice versa. The cat was incredibly attention hungry, especially early in the morning, and Kenny had been waking up to this nuisance every day since he had first brought the feline home six years prior.  
Fatass was as much part of his daily routine as everything else was.

Eventually, the cat had its fill of affection and bothering its master, and he leaped down from the boy's bed, sauntering off with his fluffy tail in the air.  
Figuring that he would finally have a little solitude with which to spend the morning, down slipped Kenny's hand. Morning wood would not so easily be deterred; especially not of a young boy, and especially not of this young boy in particular.  
He had only just resumed pleasuring himself, going slow and summoning back images of a long-legged, big bazooka brunette when a yell barged into his room.  
"KENNY! WAKE UP OR YOU'LL BE LATE!" Jumping in his skin, all potentially sexy images dispersed like a flock of startled birds. His reply was also in the form of a yell.  
"I'M UP ALREADY!" God, his mother could ruin a perfectly good opportunity for a jerk-off fast.  
"WELL, GIT A MOVE ON, DON'T JUS' LAY THAR!"  
"I'M GITTIN' UP!" he hollered back, then he corrected himself: "I AM GETTING UP," taking care to enunciate each syllable carefully. Emotion brought out an accent he hid very carefully, even to his family.

Lazily, he rolled out of bed and began shuffling around the tiny room, looking for his orange jacket. He was already wearing holey jeans and a dingy white t-shirt; lately he had decided to just go to bed using the same clothes he went to school in, and this had improved his life in various ways. For one, his mother was notoriously bad with keeping up with laundry, so narrowing down his contribution to the laundry demand usually meant he would get most of his stuff done sooner. Plus, it allowed him to sleep in a few minutes later, since he didn't have to search for clothes and then go through the trouble of putting them on in the morning.

Shrugging into his jacket and pulling the hood over his head, though leaving his mouth uncovered for now, he began dragging himself to the bathroom. He rubbed his face to try and scape the sleep out of his eyes, his ears deaf to the raucous noises of his family. The McCormick family was loud, regardless whether or not they were angry at each other, and everything was a wreck of screaming and shouting and shrieking to be heard over the sound of never-ending screaming and shouting and shrieking.  
Kenny mostly ignored it, unless when directly confronted by it, (and make no mistake; he could hold his own in the face of it) but he preferred to slip into the background and remain unnoticed. The only thing in the house more silent than the cats.

He was lucky enough to secure the bathroom to himself, and by splashing water carelessly on his face and hastily brushing his teeth, he more or less completed his morning routine, though last minute he ran a few wet fingers through his hair. There was no sense in styling it; it would be hidden all day beneath his jacket.  
Granted, he didn't style his hair even when he didn't have the jacket as an excuse, but that was also neither here nor there.

Unzipping to take a piss, he found the obnoxiously persistent morning wood prevented from producing a stream. He glanced over his shoulder; the bathroom door was locked, and his family appeared to be in the middle of an argument. He would surely have a few minutes to himself to take care of his more pertinent issue.  
Amongst the mess and litter of the bathroom was an overturned rack of magazines, not all of them there just to pass time while sitting on the john. Tucked inside an extremely uninteresting copy of National Geographic was half a Playboy, which Kenny eagerly retrieved. More busty, scantily clad brunettes; perfect.  
Kenny liked brunettes for two reasons: firstly, he himself was blond, and it felt narcissistic for him to prefer other blonds. Secondly, his mother was a natural red head, and he could NOT masturbate to a red head without an image of his mother accidentally getting in the way. Call it a Freudian slip if you will; whatever it was, it was something he avoided at all costs. Dark hair, whether brown or dark enough to be black, was his poison.

He was just getting into it, really starting to feel it when the door began to pound.  
"Kenny!" came a loud shout from behind it. "Hurry up fucker, I need ta git in thur! The pounding was his brother, Kevin, and he sounded more pissed off than usual.  
"Go away, asshat!" Kenny yelled back, but the pounding only increased.  
"Say that to my face you sumbitch!"  
"She's your mother too!" Angrily, Kenny shoved his dick back into his pants and flushed the toilet, hastily hiding the Playboy inside the magazine rack for later usage.

Yanking open the door, he barely had a moment to blink before he was pushed out of the way, roughly colliding with the door and then crashing into the wall while his brother stormed past him. "Hey fuckface, what's the big idea?" he growled. Between the two McCormick brothers, they were creative when it came to naming each other. Usually some sort of cuss word or derogatory term was used in light of their true names, which typically only their mother invoked, and usually only in anger.  
"Shaddup," the elder brother grunted. He was unrolling the toilet paper around and around as blood poured from his nose into the sink, and he threw water to his face to wash it away.  
"What happened to you?" Kenny asked, more out of morbid curiosity than concern. He was more preoccupied with his shoulder at the moment, which was sore after slamming it against the door, and he rubbed it tenderly.  
"Pops socked me," came another grunt. He held the toilet paper up to his nose and tilted his head back.  
"The fuck did you do to piss him off this time?"  
"I ain't done nothing."  
"Bullshit, you just love running your mouth to him and then getting walloped for it."  
"Shut yer pie hole, you little shit. Git out of here."

Reluctantly, Kenny abandoned the bathroom. In light of three masturbation attempts, he was overly worked up, pumped full of testosterone, and in generally no mood to be fucked with. A man should be allowed to masturbate in peace, damn it.

As he entered the kitchen, he found his parents sitting at the table making generally pleasant conversation; whatever had occurred to result in Kevin's bloody nose had apparently not been a big enough deal to ruin the rest of the morning. Karen was eating cereal, generic brand Rice Krispies, and Kenny sat in the chair next to her. He was hovering over the table, trying vainly to get a paw at the pile of toast that sat in the middle.  
Kenny was one of their other cats. Karen had named him after her favorite brother at a young age, namely because Kenny (the boy) had at the time already become determined to hide inside his orange parka for all eternity, and Kenny (the cat) was a very vibrant type of orange tabby. They had tried to give the cat some other name (Kenny thought it might have been Tiger or some other mundane choice) but Kenny stuck, and now there were two Kennys in the McCormick household.  
Kenny had once or twice used the cat as a scapegoat to ignore his family when they called for him, feigning ignorance and claiming that he thought they were calling for the cat. However, after receiving some of the famed McCormick medicine specially formulated for curing wise-ass, he had stopped.

Our Kenny, the boy, not the cat, wound up in a chair directly facing her, and he, unlike Kenny (the cat; not the boy) had no problem reaching the toast.  
"Mornin'," he muttered so as not to seem moody or unwilling to be polite to his family. As previously noted, he preferred to stay quiet and out of the picture, and that meant not doing anything to piss his parents off. He quietly munched dry toast; there may or may not have been butter or jelly to be found in the fridge, but it hadn't been put out, so he decided not to risk getting it.  
"Mornin' Kenny!" Karen smiled at him with two missing teeth, a treat which had earned her two full dollars in one week thanks to some sort of magical fairy. At the sound of his name, Kenny (the cat, not the boy) leaped from the table and began purring loudly, gently brushing against her legs back and forth. She giggled.  
"Kenny was sitting in Angel's spot and needed to get down anyway." Angel was neither a cat nor a boy; he was the name of Karen's imaginary friend, a mental manifestation of the secret super hero who rescued her from trouble and defended her from harm. He had said he would always be there for her, and so she made it so that was always the case.  
"Angel's not real, Karen." Some might say he was cruel, but Kenny needed to ensure his cover was never blown, and so forced to play the skeptic big brother, he had to say things like this now and then to keep her on her toes.  
"Is so!" she insisted. "Last week he walked me home from school when Mommy couldn't pick me up."  
"Kenny, feed these damn cats," their mother barked. Fatass had decided that her legs needed brushing against, too. "Yer pets 'er bugging the rest of us." Likely this was an attempt to stem any further overreaction from Stuart, who appeared to be nursing a hangover.  
"Yes, Ma." To say they were Kenny's pets was not entirely untrue; Kenny had brought Fatass home at the age of 6, and it seemed like every year thereafter there was a new cat to add to the family, usually due to Kenny's interference. The McCormick children received an allowance of $5 a week, but Kenny received $5 every TWO weeks; a cut his parents determined would be enough to help them feed the cat gang.  
Kenny had no problem with this; he liked cats a lot more than he liked $5. They kept rats away, and for reasons best left unmentioned, he was terrified of rats.

Fatass and Kenny hovered below his feet and yowled like they hadn't eaten in days, though in fact he had fed them all yesterday. The third cat was daintily making her way towards the kitchen as she heard the clatter of kitty chow in little tin bowls, and while the other two set to work immediately chowing down on it, she daintily picked each kibble as if they were grapes from a vine, clearly in no rush.  
This was Princess Pussy, another Karen McCormick Classic, and she was sleek and black with very short hair. She was also the only cat they owned that was fixed, namely because it was too damn expensive to keep neutering and spaying cats, and with only one female of the lot it seemed an easy fix to spay one and solve the whole problem.

Humor did not often pass Kenny McCormick by, especially when it was dirty humor, and it was not lost upon him that two of his cats were named Ass and Pussy.  
It also did not pass him by when he saw the cats curled up next to each other, and thought about saying that Kenny was surrounded by Ass and Pussy.  
Such was the joy of living in his home.

The fourth cat would be moping somewhere inside the house, but he would come for the scraps of his breakfast later when the kitchen had cleared. Kenny had actually seen him cowering beneath the couch on his way to the kitchen, staring intently for an opportunity to dash without being seen.  
This would be Shit-For-Brains: a slim white cat with a brown splotch on his head that admittedly looked a little like he had stuck his head in shit. The name was courtesy of Stuart, (as he put it, "Shitferbrains") and he had earned it by being the most notoriously mischievous cat of the bunch, resulting in him having been kicked many a time. Now he was very skittish and rarely liked to be seen, something that irritated Kenny, but what was done was done. If Shit-For-Brains didn't come eat breakfast with the rest before he left for school, he would go nudge a bowl underneath the couch for him.  
Most of his family he didn't care for, but he doted on his cats.

Four cats in the poorest household in South Park was kind of excessive, as his parents were prone to pointing out, but the children would also point out that there were surprisingly few varmints in the McCormick household considering where they lived. Since they kept the house free of pests and made the kids happy, the McCormick parents seemed content enough to let them all stay; for believe it or not, their parents were concerned whether or not their children were happy. Stuart just wasn't afraid to knock some sense into his kids when, as Kevin frequently did, they tried to talk shit.

After feeding the cats, Kenny took a detour to the coffee pot to pour some in a cracked, chipped mug. He didn't particularly like coffee, but it woke him up and gave him something to dunk his tasteless toast into. Not to mention that it was one of the few things in the household of which there was an abundance; the whole family barring Karen drank it.  
It was a good day when he managed to slip Bailey's Irish Cream into his coffee as well, but he had to be very clever and discreet about it, and more often than not he wound up with milk in his coffee than the Bailey's.

Though he tried to wait until Carol was occupied elsewhere, she appeared to have a sixth sense for the misgivings of her middle child, for without even looking back at him, she knew the second his fingers touched the bottle. She warned him: "Yer in fer an asswhoopin' if you try it, smart ass."  
"Yes, Ma." Instead he reached for the milk, poured a little bit in the mug, and then he trailed back to the table. He crumbled up another piece of toast into the cup, shoving the resulting soggy pieces into his mouth and thinking all the while of the long legs and bouncing titties he had been denied all morning. Never a dull moment.

All too soon it was time for school. The children kissed their mother and said "Goodbye, Ma" or "Love you, Mommy!" as the case applied, and the three children marched off to school. Kevin took Karen to preschool and then went on to middle school, and Kenny headed off on his own towards the bus stop that would take him to South Park Elementary.  
He didn't exactly like leaving Karen in the hands of his dipshit older brother, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He would make sure she got home safe and sound later.

Kenny was second to the bus stop of the four boys. Stan had arrived ahead of him and was mindlessly munching a Pop-Tart, staring thoughtfully at the ground. At first, he hardly seemed to notice Kenny slip next to him. Then he greeted unenthusiastically, "Hey Kenny," a generic, monotonous morning courtesy that Kenny returned with the same lack of interest.  
They didn't tend to talk much, although it was not because they disliked each other. Stan was usually brooding on something or other; Kenny was just Kenny and he never talked much anyway. But they enjoyed each others company if solely for the reason that there was no arguing between them; only peace and quiet.  
Kenny liked Kyle and to an extent he liked Cartman. He just didn't like the two of them together.

As expected, when the second half of their group arrived to the bus stop, there was some juvenile argument going on; there was the same hollow anger and the same incessant tossing back and forth of insults that had long ago lost their potency.  
Kenny felt like it was hollow anger, anyway. They always seemed angry at each other and he was partially convinced that their hate had become a front for their weird, mutual friendship that they were too proud to admit existed. It was easier to go on pretending they despised each other than to just admit they were friends.

"I'm telling you, Fatass, that's not how it works. Just face it; your mother lied to you."  
"Nuh-uh! My mom wouldn't lie to me! You don't even know."  
"Hey dudes," came Stan's distracted greeting. Like Kenny, he had long ago accepted that Kyle and Cartman were stuck in some perpetual argument akin to something like purgatory, and he had ceased to consider it important. Instead, he pulled a silver wrapper out of the front of his jacket, revealing the second half of his breakfast.  
"Kenny!" Cartman cried triumphantly, as though he had figured out the answer to an especially tricky question. He grabbed Kenny's shoulders and gently shook them. "Kenny you know all about this stuff. You can tell us for sure."  
"Kenny will tell you exactly what I said, Fatass."  
"We'll see, won't we Kyle? Okay, listen: can a hermaphrodite get itself pregnant?"  
Stan choked on his Pop-Tart, sputtering out little pink and white crumbs until his face went red. Kyle gave him a few good whacks on the back to help him recover, and then suddenly Stan was was involved in the conversation. "Dude, what the fuck? Where did that topic even come from?"  
"I saw it in a movie. This hermaphrodite got herself pregnant and had a bunch of demon spawn."  
"It was a _movie _Cartman, meaning it wasn't _real_."  
"Yeah, well, my Mom's a hermaphrodite, so what of it Kyle?"  
"Your Mom's a transgendered freak of nature, not a hermaphrodite, Fatass."  
"Stop calling me fat you stupid-"  
"Okay, okay, chill out already." Doing everyone a favor, Stan interrupted Cartman and put the brakes on the argument. The two turned away from each other, arms crossed, but Stan turned to Kenny. It was a well-known fact within their circle that their quietest member happened to be their wisest guru when it came to sex. "Kenny, what do you think? Can a hermaphrodite get pregnant?"  
"I don't fucking know dude; I'm not into shemales," was the guru's muffled reply.  
"Ha, he didn't agree with either of us!" Cartman rubbed in Kyle's face that he had not been proven right or wrong either way, (and utilizing Cartman logic, that meant that Kyle was wrong) but Stan reflected on his choice of words.  
"Shemale?" he asked.  
"Yeah. You know, chicks with dicks? Dolls with balls? Dudes with boobs? Sluts with nuts?"  
"Gross, dude; stop." Kyle stuck out his tongue and shuddered in disgust. "We get the point."  
"I'm telling you; all she has to do is jerk off and then shove the stuff up there, and then she can make a baby by herself. It's gross as fuck and it results in _demonic babies."_  
"Can we _please_ talk about something else? Jesus Christ; it's not even 8 in the morning yet and I already have a headache." His brow deeply furrowed, Stan glared at his half-eaten Pop-Tart as though it were the source of his problems. "Kenny, do you want this?" he asked, indicating the breakfast pastry towards his friend. "I've lost my appetite."  
Kenny was not one to pass on free food, especially after his abysmal breakfast at home. He happily accepted the Pop-Tart, taking small bites and nibbling it all around the edges to make it last as long as possible. It was cherry flavored and cold, but delicious.

The bus ride to school was uneventful. Kyle and Cartman had apparently decided that their daily quota of arguing had been fulfilled for the time being, and they were civil for the remainder of the morning. Stan continued his silent brooding, (over what, no one was sure; Kyle would probably get it out of him later) and Kenny continued being horny.  
Not even the scarring mental image of a hairy shemale (chickwithdick, slutwithnuts; take your pick) was going to wither this boner. He HAD to find a quiet place to take care of it or it would frustrate him for the rest of the school day. He wasn't interested in letting his balls go blue for eight hours.

The bus deposited them in front of the school and Kenny excused himself to the bathroom. He did in fact still have to pee, (he hadn't gotten around to it after Kevin's intrusion) but that, he thought, could wait.  
There were two boys at urinals in the boy's restroom, but that wouldn't matter much; they would soon be done and gone. Kenny entered a stall and sat on the toilet, promptly unzipping his pants and pulling out his extremely neglected hard-on. Given that there were no convenient porno mags in a school restroom, he had to take a moment to invite a slutty, big-breasted bimbo into his head, and then he slowly stroked himself, making a conscious effort to silence his breathing.  
In less than a minute it was back to full strength, and he didn't think it would take much longer to finally put an end to it. The other boys had already left the restroom, leaving him alone, and he leaned back against the toilet, releasing a shuddering gasp as his hand gripped harder.

The door to the boy's room opened, and someone was calling his name. "Kenny? Are you still here?" It was Stan. Kenny did not reply, but after pausing in the doorway, Stan came right to his locked stall and knocked.  
"Kenny, you there?"  
"God fucking damn it Stan, what?" he said, raising his voice to nearly a shout. He could see Stan hastily take a step back.  
"Christ dude, sorry. I just wanted to know if you'd done your math homework."  
Kenny had in fact done it, but having been cock blocked today for a FOURTH time, for yet another retarded reason, Kenny was in no mood to humor him. "Go ask fucking Kyle for it."  
"He won't show me his. He says I've bummed enough math homework off of him for the month."  
Fuck; if he didn't finish soon, class would start. But he couldn't move his hand an inch with Stan standing there. "I'll give it to you later, just leave me alone for now."  
"Dude, please? I gave you my Pop-Tart this morning; you totally owe me."  
Furiously, Kenny snarled and began to pull his pants up again. He gave up. He seriously gave up. Obviously God did not want him to be happy today.  
And the saying was true; there was no such thing as a free lunch, or in this case, a free Pop-Tart, even if it had been half-eaten.

All day he wasted away in class. The erection eventually went away, (and he eventually got to take his extremely delayed morning piss) but the fact that the hard-on itself had gone did not make him feel better. He was still insatiably horny, and he was sure that his balls were probably the epitome of "blue." He had even resorted to some light rubbing in class, only to be interrupted by a poorly timed fire alarm.  
There was just no end to the madness. The whole world was against him. He wondered if he would ever again be allowed to jerk off in peace.

On the bus ride home, he was again called upon for his expert opinion on juvenile sexual matters. Ordinarily he liked dispensing his knowledge of the dirty to his humble, naïve friends, but today it was just one more roadblock. All of this talk about sex and he could do nothing about it.

At home, before he had a chance to tend to his needs, his overworked hormones got him in trouble. His after school chores were few, but while emptying smelly litter boxes, Kevin sought him out and reproached him for stealing from his porn, and he did it by coming up behind him and strangling him.  
"You fuckin' perv, I found my goddamn magazine in the bathroom. I shoulda knew yer stupid ass had taken it." He was, of course, referring to the half a Playboy Kenny had attempted to utilize earlier. Most of Kenny's magazines came from his brother, but Kevin rarely seemed to notice; dirty magazines were the only thing that the elder McCormick owned in excess.  
"Fuck you," Kenny gasped as he fought for his head back. Kevin was older and stronger, but Kenny was more nimble, and he managed to slip out of his brother's grasp. Instantly he bolted for his room, but Kevin chased after him. Kenny wasn't fast enough in locking his door and Kevin burst in, fists flying.  
"I told you to stay out of my room you little shithead!"  
"I never went in your fucking room assmuncher!" They ended up on the floor, yelling and screaming and swearing at each other like demons while they threw blind punches and kicks left and right in hopes of eventually hitting something; their tact was utterly graceless.

The bedlam eventually attracted the attention of their father, who had initially been passed out drunk on the couch. He stepped into the brawl with the usual, "Break it up; break it up!" and he pulled the boys away from each other by their jacket collars, like separating two dogs by the scruffs of their necks. "The fuck is wrong with the two of you?" he berated them, breathing heavily the stench of booze into their faces.  
"Kenny stole my shit!" Kevin accused angrily.  
"Kevin's a fuckin' liar!" rebutted Kenny just as angrily.  
"Nuh-uh!"  
"Yuh-huh!"  
"Both of ya'll shut the fuck before I give ya'll something to really cry about!" The boys were silent. They had taken enough of a beating from each other, and they weren't willing to risk a fresh one. "The two of you better settle this like men and not like two fuckin' kids, ya hear? Don't you make me have to step in a second time."  
"Yes, Pa," the two boys chorused together. Stuart released their collars, and they decided to leave it at a draw. While their father drunkenly stumbled away, they exchange loathing glances, and determined this to be the truce:  
"Next time I find yer stupid ass in my room I'm knockin' yer teeth in, and God help me if I don't," Kevin threatened.  
"Next time yer stupid ass tries to aim a punch at me, I'm rippin' yer goddamn nuts off," Kenny promised in return.  
The brothers parted.  
Just another day in the life of a McCormick.

Before returning to finishing his chores, Kenny dropped by the bathroom. He hadn't come off too bad in the fight; he had done a superb job of guarding his face and most of his bruises would be on his lower body, invisible to anyone. Perfect.  
Unfortunately, Kevin had taken the Playboy from the magazine rack, and Kenny cursed his luck. Now he would have to find a new one, and somewhere else to hide it.  
The day just kept getting worse.

It wasn't long before Carol got wind of her sons' fighting, and she gave them extra chores as punishment, along with a long, droning mother lecture about fighting. Kenny wasn't finished until dinner, and he didn't find himself a chance to attempt to relieve himself until he decided to take a shower before bed. A nice, private shower without any family or friends to interrupt him; it would be a nice, peaceful end to his day and he would finally get a long-awaited moment to release this pent-up pressure.  
But even this plan was sabotaged; the shower water would simply not grow warm, and it would have been an outright miracle for someone to jerk off in a shower practically spraying ice. It took all of Kenny's willpower to stay in long enough to clean himself off, and afterward, jerking off was the last thing on his mind. Mostly he was just anxious to get into bed and under the covers; he was freezing his balls off.  
This time, he made no resistance whatsoever when Fatass crawled into bed with him, and he hugged the cat close to steal his warmth. There was no heating in the house and his only blanket never seemed to keep him warm enough.  
He eventually gave up and put his orange parka back on, curling up miserably in bed with the cat, shivering.

At some point, the cat became fed up with its master's uncharacteristic clinging and it marched away. Kenny found some degree of warmth in his winter clothes under his sorry excuse for a blanket, and it finally seemed that he would be able to have a quiet moment to himself. He was tired, and a quick, casual jerk-off before bed would be just the thing to send him off to dreamland.

As to be expected, just as he had wrapped his fingers around his revitalized boner, there was a quiet knock at the door. When he opened his eyes and glanced up, he saw that it was Karen. She held a doll in her arms, and her little legs were shivering.  
"Kenny, can I come in?" she asked. With her brother hidden under the blanket, she was completely unaware of the extremely private moment she had interrupted, and even if she HAD actually caught him, it was doubtful she would have understood what was happening.  
His brother he would tell off, Stan he would tell off, but his sister was immune. If Karen wanted to see him, she would see him. Kenny's fate was sealed. He had just been cock blocked by his own little sister.  
"Come up by me," he mumbled.

Karen wasted no time in hastening to the bed and crawling up beside him, cuddling close for body warmth. Her room was no warmer than his.  
"It's so cold," she said, teeth chattering.  
"Yeah, folks must have forgotten to pay for heating again." He pulled his blanket over her and tucked it in around her to create a cocoon of warmth. He had his jacket to sleep in; he could sacrifice his blanket for now.  
"Why were you and Kevin fighting earlier? You both sounded really mad."  
"We were just being stupid. You know how it gets sometimes."  
"I wish everyone would stop fighting," she said bitterly. "Daddy and Mommy and you and Kevin..." Nonetheless, it was clear that she was not even remotely mad at her big brother; she snuggled up close to him, hiding his face in his chest.

He pat her head lovingly and brushed her tangled hair out of her face, but he could not think of anything reassuring to say. "Yeah, I know." It was true he loved his sister more than he loved anyone else in his family, including himself, but when he was Kenny, he had very little to say to her. He reserved most of the talking for Mysterion when he appeared.  
"I haven't seen my angel for a while. Why doesn't he visit me more Kenny?"  
Kenny had not donned his secret identity for a few days. He hadn't really felt like it, and Karen hadn't really needed him much; in fact, he was starting to think he should try to ween her off of her mysterious hero. Maybe it was time to teach her to rely more on herself.  
But of course, he couldn't explain this to her, and so he sang a different tune. "If you really do have some guardian angel out there, I'm sure he'll come back around soon."  
"You think so?" Karen said sleepily. She yawned deeply and nestled her face further into his chest. "I hope he comes tomorrow."  
"I'm sure he will."

A few minutes later, her breathing grew even and shallow, and her face became molded by the peace of sleep. She was still wrapped in Kenny's only blanket.  
Kenny sighed in defeat and put an arm over her, holding her close. Blue balls or not, there would be nothing done about it tonight, and probably nothing to be done about it tomorrow either. If there was nothing he could do to change his situation, he may as well just accept his fate.

Kenny eventually nodded off, and despite his pent-up sexual frustration over the course of the day, his dreams were clean, innocent, and uninterrupted. Still holding Karen close to share his warmth with her, he slept.


End file.
